Jonathan Coachman, ex-backstage interviewer, announcer and on-screen heel henchman, knows better than most how far Vince McMahon will go to push a wind-up. In 2001, Brisco approached the Coach about running a little football pool as some fun between shows on the loop. Coachman agreed: he was new in the company at the time, only 26 years old, and needed something on his social resume to be accepted as one of the boys. Hed get what he was after, but not the way hed planned it. At a Smackdown taping in Fayetteville, North Carolina, Coach was running the pool when he was confronted by two police officers, who informed him that hed just involved an undercover police officer, that running a gambling pool was a felony in NC, and that theyd have to arrest him. Stopping by McMahons office on the way out to let him know that they were taking in one of his employees, Coach had the riot act screamed at him by an apoplectic McMahon in front of Triple H, The Rock, Stephanie McMahon and Kevin Dunn: basically, almost all of the companys inner circle. Vince tore strips off the Coach, and then barbecued them and ate them in front of him, throwing the scraps to wild dogs: the way Coachman tells the story, the invective went on for 45 minutes or more. When he was finished, the police informed McMahon that it would be $1,500 to get Coachman out for the evening, at which point Vince essentially informed them that the kid was on his own. Coach, panicking, asked if he could cover his face as he left the arena in handcuffs, worrying about what his parents might think if the arrest made the news: McMahon grimly threw a pair of gym shorts from his laundry bag to the hapless announcer. In shock, Coachman was led from the office and away to the exit, passing a stunned Undertaker (who wasnt in on the rib, and whose reaction was real). Coach was driven a mile down the road in the back of a police car, on his way to county jail and an uncertain future until the police turned around again and brought him back to the arena to see everyone howling with laughter. Coachman took the rib with excellent humour (eventually he needed ten minutes to himself to cry with relief to begin with), and was one of the boys from that moment on, having proven what he was made of.
Professional writer, punk werewolf and nesting place for starfish. Obsessed with squid, spirals and story. I publish short weird fiction online at desincarne.com, and tweet nonsense under the name Jack The Bodiless. You can follow me all you like, just don't touch my stuff.
